I open the window
\nso that she can hear the sound of the night,
\nso that she can smell the fresh scent,
\nand when the rain starts
\nshe will hear her mama again
\nwalking quietly as a breeze of air
\nto cover her from the cool of the storm.<\/p>\n
Watch her gently as she stirs slightly,
\namazed by the face, so small
\nand innocent, that reflects the generations
\nback through untold time, that moves
\ntoward a future shaped and molded
\nby who we are, by from where we came,
\nby the question mark of where we are today.<\/p>\n
Sheema Kalbasi and Roger HumesI open the window
\nso that she can hear the sound of the night,
\nso that she can smell the fresh scent,
\nand when the rain starts
\nshe will hear her mama again
\nwalking quietly as a breeze of air
\nto cover her from the cool of the storm.<\/p>\n
Watch her gently as she stirs slightly,
\namazed by the face, so small
\nand innocent, that reflects the generations
\nback through untold time, that moves
\ntoward a future shaped and molded
\nby who we are, by from where we came,
\nby the question mark of where we are today.<\/p>\n
Notice the little hand
\nthat clutches the blanket, so perfectly
\nformed, sculpted by love and
\nthe grace of God, the hand which someday
\nperhaps will cover with a blanket
\nher own baby girl and remember the moments
\nwhen she was young and knew
\neven in her sleep that mama was there.<\/p>\n
Reach down and the fingers so tiny,
\nso fragile yet so strong in their quiet slumbered love,
\nunconsciously wrap around mine
\nand transmit pulse through my body,
\ncircling, snaking, dancing through me
\nwith a warmth that runs from my heart
\nto my womb, and reminds me of the bond
\nthat will connect us for as long as she lives.<\/p>\n
Tip-toe from her room and return to mine,
\nslip between the blankets lest I rouse him
\nfrom his rest, although I wouldn\u2019t mind,
\nfor at this moment it would be wonderful
\nto disappear into a small nested universe
\nwhere twined beneath the lullaby of the rain<\/p>\n
we would remember the miracle<\/p>\n
from which she came.<\/p>\n
Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I open the window so that she can hear the sound of the night, so that she can smell the fresh scent, and when the rain starts she will hear her mama again walking quietly as a breeze of air to cover her from the cool of the storm. Watch her gently as she stirs […]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":551,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[45],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/270"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/551"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=270"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/270\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=270"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=270"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=270"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}